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Harry Potter and the Quiet Life	By : marrjisback Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Neville Views: 15576 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: i do NOT own Harry potter nor am I making any profit from this story

Chapter List
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A/N i did indeed nick it from Howls Moving Castle! Good spotting! Cookies to you :) Just saw HP 7 prt 2! it was amaziiingngngngng and so sad... go see it! like i need to tell you lot! anyway

The Quick Escape

Cedric’s eyes widen suddenly. Harry could see past the green light that reminded him of a woman’s scream, of a car crash, and into those suddenly wide eyes. They seemed to tighten a fraction and go still. Slowly Cedric fell, he tumbled out of the Astronomy Tower and his hand reached out towards Harry. Dumbledore seemed to stare right at him as he twisted slightly in the air before smattering against the ground like a broken crust. Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, green irises swelling. He clutched the bloody spot beneath his clean pillow sack where Bellatrix’s knife broke Dobby’s tanned skin.

CRUTIO

And everything was coming apart. Harry tried to scream out but no one was listening. Where was Sirius? Where was Lupin? Tonks? Then Fred appeared before him, grinning casually. He reached out and ran his fingers down the side of Harry’s arm. Harry shuddered and fell into his embrace, so frightened and longing for his comfort. Fred rubbed his back, clicking his tongue teasingly at Harry’s distress.

“Don’t be so docile Harry. It’s more fun when you fight a little.” He kissed Harry’s lips firmly, licking them as they parted in an almost cat-like manor. “I like a challenge.” He smirked. Then his smile turned red. His eyes lost their mischievous glint and stilled. Blood. Everywhere. On Harry’s hands. On his face. In his hair. Fred was disappearing in the red.

“DON’T GO!” He screamed. He fumbled out of his room and found the door to the bathroom on luck alone, his vision blurred. He vomited, most of it landing in the toilet. He rested his head against the toilet seat and panted heavily. He was wracked by sobs. He wailed loudly and choked a little on his tears. His ribs shook almost painfully.

A warm hand pressed against his back and rubbed softly. Harry turned his wide eyes to the stranger, to Neville pressed on the outskirts of his nightmare like a beacon of light left on the porch of an imaginary place called home.

“You okay?” He murmured.

"They’re all dead.” He felt his lips tremble, he felt his vision blur a little more as fat tears filled his eyes. “And it’s my fault.”

Neville squeezed him into a hug. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just held the poor suffering hero. He didn’t blame Voldemort, he didn’t tell Harry to cheer up or to be glad he had survived. He didn’t even try to explain that none of it had been Harry’s fault, that Harry had been the unfortunate center piece in the worlds worst game. In fact all he did was softly cradle Harry and murmur, “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Over and over. And if Harry had truly been listening, he would have heard, beneath those promises, the whispers of “I love you.”

Neville had soothed Harry until the smaller man seemed incapable of movement.

“Fred.” Harry moaned and Neville felt his chest tighten. He didn’t know that Harry had been that close with Fred. A weird sort of anger buzzed annoyingly in the back of his mind. He tried to ignore the ugly thing he knew to be jealously. How stupid of him. But Harry’s lips were murmuring someone else’s name and the pressure in his chest became the desire to silence those whispers. Neville leaned down, not entirely aware of himself and enveloped Harry’s lips in his own. Harry, feeling a deep heavy lonliness grabbed desperately onto Neville’s stubbly face. Neville’s hands brushed Harry’s cheeks which were damp with cold sweat, fear and tears. It was very safe, Harry thought, here in Neville’s warm hands. They didn’t remind Harry in the slightest of Fred.

            Harry’s eyes shot open as thoughts of Fred came rushing unwelcomed into his mind and a guilty streak flushed him. Neville’s lips felt suddenly wrong, his hands distinctly incorrect in their gentle movement. A sob wrecked its way across Harry’s chest and he shoved Neville away. He curled around his knees and cried unabashedly. Neville’s warm hand stayed on Harry’s shoulder until he drifted into sleep.

            When Harry woke up he found that Neville had carted him back to his room. He lay still, staring at his own ceiling, thinking of what he had done. He had shoved Neville away. He had ended their would-be relationship. He had snubbed it before it could even flourish. Harry’s relationship with the twins was complicated. In fifth year Harry and the twins had, quite accidently, become physically involved. Harry wasn’t sure when their playful wrestling had changed into heated touches. Hits were replaced with kisses, rubs and a burning passion. Harry wondered, still, if it had started as a bizarre form of gratitude from the twins because of the money Harry had given them fourth year. Or perhaps they were trying to comfort Harry who was isolated and distraught about Cedric, Voldemort and later, Sirius. Harry had found their sexual antics a sort of stress release. It was hard to hate yourself when two people seemed intent on loving you.

However they weren’t in love, Harry knew. Harry’s personal relationship with them remained brotherly, which may seem odd and incestuous however he was already involved with twins so that obscured this tiny oddity. Harry never sought more from them and was content to wrap himself in the twins touches. All this time together had taught him how to tell the difference between the two. They used to play ‘guess who’ were Harry, blindfolded, would try to differentiate which hand belonged to who. The hands, despite being of identical size and temperature, were very different. George, to Harry’s surprise, was gentle and firm. He had a kinder, more serious aspect, a worrier. Harry was strongly reminded of Mrs. Weasley sometimes when George told him he wasn’t eating enough or smiled gently at him. Fred on the other hand, was much more dangerous. He was mischievous and playful and damn the consequences. Harry found himself adoring them.

And then Fred had died. It was strange to suddenly be missing such a large part of yourself. Every year on their shared birthday, Harry and George found themselves entangled in bed sheets, crying between the mournful kisses. It was very much like how Neville and he had first kissed. But more sorrowful. As they held each other they were distracted by the absence of a third member, by the spot Fred had left in the bed between them. Harry found, only after Fred’s death, that he could have fell in love with them. It would have been easy to enter a relationship, a real relationship with the twins. To indulge and be indulged upon and to feel warm, natural love. But it was too late now. He could never be with George alone without both feeling the absences, without both hating themselves. He had missed his first chance at love.

It was this that made himself promise that he would never let that kind of chance slip away again. Yet he had. Because he felt guilty about being with someone when red was gone. Neville’s touch had felt wrong because it wasn’t Fred’s. but how long did he plan to lie alone, dreaming of Fred and George and knowing it was long passed. He couldn’t sit around waiting for Neville either. Time for action. Action was something Harry James Potter could handle.

            And with that stirring thought Harry walked to Neville’s room, banged excitedly on the door and opened it. The bed was neatly made and Neville’s stuff was gone.

Harry raced downstairs. “Neville!” He shouted but silence followed. He ran through the rooms and looked outside but knew it was too late. Neville was gone.

Back in the kitchen a roll of parchment was set on the table. He sat heavily for a moment, then unrolled it.

‘Harry,’ it said it Neville’s not quite neat, not quite messy writing. ‘I’m sorry for everything. I think it best if I return two weeks early to Hogwarts. I’ve attached my plans for the backyard if you still want them. I made a mistake in coming here, I’ve ruined everything. I think we should return to being distant but good friends. I truly am sorry, Harry.

Sincerely’ Then a large blot of ink over what was likely the word ‘Yours’ crossed out, then Neville’s loopy signature.

Harry stared, dumbfounded at the message. What an idiot, he thought miserably. He wished Neville had stayed and they had discussed things like adults. This was childish and irksome. If he had just stayed, like any reasonable person would have, harry could have told him that he had been afraid of kissing Neville back because everyone he had ever tried to love had died or left him for someone else or couldn’t seem to love him anymore. He was afraid of the hurt Neville could now inflict on him but was willing to take a risk on Neville because he was tired of being alone. He was tired of not living. And he so liked everything about Neville and his sweet sincerity and clumsiness, bravery and dedication. But Neville had left.

            Should Harry write him a letter? Should he wait until Neville’s calmed down or rush to it? He wished Neville would just come back.

Just as he thought this, an uncertain knock on the door echoed into the kitchen. Heart leaping to his throat, Harry raced down the hall and flung the door open, hoping to see his old Hogwarts classmate looking sorry in his doorway. It was, in fact and old Hogwarts student looking uncertain there, but it was not Neville. Harry stared, shocked, at the strangely sad, confused face on the other side of the welcome mat.

It was this person, and not Neville who would help Harry plant baby’s breath and forget-me-nots in the late gardening season.

It was this person, and not Neville, who would, as he helped hang the sign over the B&B, smack his head and scowl as Harry laughed.

And it was this person who planted the willow and charmed it to glow slightly in the yard.

This person would spend the rest of the summer and well into November with Harry instead of Neville.

And it would be with this person and not Neville that Harry entered a relationship that would ultimately deeply wound him.

And Neville, sitting alone in his office, tears burning his eyes as he thought about the rejection he didn’t understand but thought he deserved, did not know that all the things he should have been doing with Harry were now being done with Draco Malfoy.
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Harry Potter and the Quiet Life